


Comfort

by coralreefskim



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, In a way, Mental Instability, Nightmares, im not sure how to tag this, its not platonic, mutual emotional support eyy, this could probably pass as platonic, this feels more like a, tho you can take it however you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 21:32:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10448025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coralreefskim/pseuds/coralreefskim
Summary: The gentle hum of the engine, barely audible, and was yetstill there, sounded almost like a forgotten lullaby. She could faintly hear footsteps, maybe of the others who were, like them, restless, or maybe it was her imagination in her sleep-deprived state. And when she rested her temple against the table, still facing him, he turned to her and followed suit.The moment was so delicate,gentle, that she didn’t dare speak. Both of them didn’t. Their breathing was soft,shalloweven, warm brown eyes meeting kaleidoscope ones, and they just stayed there. Stayed there, until they both fell asleep, unconsciously,comfortably, like how it hadn’t been from since the war had been declared.The paladins found them the next morning, still sleeping, her hand still on his.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *inhales* I LOVE SHALLURA
> 
> anyway i hope this isn't v ooc? i mean weve only seen one moment of them interacting with no one else around during a relaxing state so this is just an interpretation of how they actually talk to each other
> 
> this could pass off as platonic but its romantic trust me tho u can take it however u want really

She saw him when she tip toed into the dining room.

Hunched over, he rested his forehead on the table, hugging himself with fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. His body was shivering, his breathing shallow, and she walked to him as quietly as she could.

He was silent, moving only the slightest bit.

“Shiro,” she whispered, stopping at his side, putting a hand on his shoulder as gently as she could when he tensed at her voice. “What are you doing here? You should be resting.”

He turned his face upwards to her, not seeming to have any intention to move from his position. “Allura,” he murmured.

She leaned into him slightly, trying for a comforting smile. “Can’t sleep?”

He chuckled lightly, voice hollow. “You and I know the answer to that.” He shut his eyes, sighing. “You?”

She hummed, sitting down in the chair beside him, and slid the hand on his shoulder down to his clenched fists. “Nightmare,” she said.

His tense body relaxed, if even for a bit, under her touch. He sat up, pursed lips saying nothing. His weary eyes were fixed on her, as if saying, _do you want to talk about it?_

Her father used to give her that look whenever she was sad.

“It was my father,” she started, voice soft. “I don’t remember exactly everything that happened, but I think,” she cleared her throat, “I think it was about… _that time_.”

He tilted his head. _Which?_

“That time,” she said again. “Like the first time.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows were furrowed in worry, but he didn’t look surprised. “Will you feel better soon?”

 _‘Will I?’_ “Will _you_?” she asked back.

He looked away, breaking eye contact. “I honestly _don’t know_ at this point.”

She would’ve preferred to sit closer to him, tell him what she wanted to say, but the chairs were too big, and she didn’t know exactly _what_ she wanted to say. It would be best that her hand just stayed on his, she decided, even if it was a feeble attempt at comfort, as it was an attempt of comfort still.

She just hoped it would be an attempt of comfort enough. For him.

The gentle hum of the engine, barely audible, and was yet _still there_ , sounded almost like a forgotten lullaby. She could faintly hear footsteps, maybe of the others who were, like them, restless, or maybe it was her imagination in her sleep-deprived state. And when she rested her temple against the table, still facing him, he turned to her and followed suit.

The moment was so delicate, _gentle_ , that she didn’t dare speak. Both of them didn’t. Their breathing was soft, _shallow_ even, warm brown eyes meeting kaleidoscope ones, and they just stayed there. Stayed there, until they both fell asleep, unconsciously, _comfortably_ , like how it hadn’t been from since the war had been declared.

The paladins found them the next morning, still sleeping, her hand still on his.

 

He didn’t know how he ended up like this.

Well, he _did_ , probably, but now he didn’t.

Memories were fleeting to him. He wasn’t sure if it was a side effect of _that time_ \-- _he wasn’t really sure of anything at this point_ \-- but they were. It seemed like his mind just decided to take whatever irrelevant things it thought was fitting and toss them right out the window and he couldn’t even do anything about it.

It was annoying. It was _frustrating_.

It was inevitable.

The worst thing was he wasn’t even sure if he _wanted_ to remember anything.

But when he did remember something from _that time_ , it was during the most random moments possible, like taking a supposedly relaxing stroll in the empty corridors of the castle or lying in bed at night in a futile attempt at getting even a short period of shut-eye. Mostly when he was trying to rest, really.

It hit him like a tonne of bricks. It hit him like a piano falling down from the sky like how it happened in old cartoons back on Earth. It hit him like reality was trying to bash his face repeatedly into the wall and cause an unnecessary migraine.

Everything started feeling like a sick cruel joke. _Living_ felt like a sick cruel joke, even if he wasn’t prepared to die yet. It was just so _tiring_ , and yet his paranoia with everything made him tense and _restless_.

He’d train whenever he _did_ feel restless, which happened frequently, even more so than he’d like to admit. He’d turn on the fighting simulator, slicing and jabbing and cutting down gladiator by gladiator, drone by drone, level by level, one by one, imagining them to be the enemy, with the arm that they made him.

 _The arm that they made him_. The arm that might have taken away innocent lives without him knowing. The arm that they could control whenever he let his guard down and potentially take over him. The arm that might force him to hurt everyone he knew, cared for, _loved_ \--

The realization that he didn’t even know how he had it in the first place and what it did was enough to _scare_ him.

He didn’t even know if he wanted to know.

On bad days, he’d stare down at the arm and imagined the one that used to be there, before a prosthetic took its place. The one that made marks on so many places, back on Earth. He’d zone out and snap back to attention, staring at the one currently attached to him, and think about getting someone to chop it off of him.

Then he’d remember that the arm was his only weapon, and if he did get it chopped it would’ve left him defenseless.

Everything was so conflicting and confusing and _sad_ it felt pathetically and ironically funny to him.

On worse days, his mind would supply him with the worst things it could provide -- what ifs he didn’t want to live through, scenarios he didn’t even want to _imagine_. He’d clench his head with his hands and scream into something so no one could hear him. He’d bite his bottom lip until it bled. He’d see images that feared him _so much_ that he’d go berserk and cut everything around him with the arm he didn’t want to have, glowing purple in a way he didn’t want it to.

He'd made sure to clean up whenever that happened, so no one would know about what was happening to him.

On _worst_ days, he wouldn’t be able to think straight. His head would pound terribly, and he’d have to resist the urge to knock himself out in desperation, because he knew -- oh he _knew_ \-- if he were to ever be unconscious in that state of mind, everything would turn from bad to worse to worst -- even though he should have been on the very _pinnacle_ of worst at this point.

He didn't even wanna start thinking about the _nightmares_.

He wondered what was happening on Earth while they were out in space. Were the Garrison’s hiding everything about what happened to them? Were they just confused about what happened, and were trying to look for clues to find out what exactly happened to them? Did anyone even _miss_ them?

He knew for a fact that Lance had a huge family. How were they doing? Had they thought Lance just disappeared? Or had they thought he died, body unable to be found? Did the Garrison lie to them, telling them there was an accident?

Hunk probably had a large family too, taking his touchiness in account. He’d imagine Hunk’s family had a restaurant, considering his love and passion for food. How were they? Did the Garrison’s lie to them, too?

Hunk and Lance probably livened up the atmosphere by just being there. He wondered if their families would notice the lost voices in the crowd. If their family would try not to cry whenever someone mentioned their name.

And Pidge -- oh god, _Colleen_. She was alone on Earth, probably believing that the rest of her family was dead. Pidge -- _Katie_ was here with him, fighting a _war_ for god’s sake, and he _didn’t even remember what happened to her husband and her son_.

He felt sick to his gut.

Did the Garrison’s organize their funerals in a group, bunched together? Thrown in a few eulogies and apologies while the families cried and mourned for their loss -- _was anyone even there for Keith?_

He punched the wall in front of him with his arm so hard he heard his bones crack. No. He won’t think of that. That was a problem for them to face when they get back home safely, preferably with no lost or substituted limbs.

Either way, he had a duty. They all did. They were the defenders of the universe, everyone’s last hope. They were the only ones who could take down the Galra empire.

He was needed for something. He could do it. He had to.

Though sometimes, just _sometimes_ , when he couldn’t stop the heaving sobs from escaping quivering lips, when he couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down his face, couldn’t stop his body from trembling, couldn’t stop the images in his head -- oh god _the images_ \-- it didn’t feel like he could do it.

He had to put up with it still.

The others, they were so young and inexperienced and they’d never seen the horrors of a war, not like he had, and he didn’t want them to go through what he had to go through. Didn’t want them to know about how he was treated, how every single prisoner was treated, how _horrible and utterly terrifying_ the entire ordeal had been.

So he had to put up with it. Show them what the Garrison’s was led to believe was him, what the entirety of the planet he probably couldn’t stand to go back was led to believe was him.

The place who believed he was dead, save for the people who found him and tried to sedate him for information.

He had to put up with it. For the team. For the universe. _For the greater good_ \--

“Shiro?” she called.

Though he had to admit, having her here did help, at least a little.

He turned to her, all thoughts vanishing -- _for now_ \-- as he tried for a convincing smile, even though he knew she could see him through easily enough. “Allura.”

 

Sometimes, everything felt suffocating.

To be thrown into a war she wasn’t allowed to take part of initially, to wake up and find that her entire planet was destroyed into smithereens and that she had to commandeer inexperienced soldiers, hopefully not leading them off a cliff, to realize that there was a chance _they wouldn’t be able to win this unending chaos_ \--

It felt like a burden too heavy for her shoulders to bear.

And even if she could manage to convince herself otherwise, that they could do the impossible by some wondrous miracle, she’d start thinking about what happened next. Where would she go then? Could she find anywhere to stay? To find a home, without having to force herself not to cry whenever someone even mentions _home_?

Coran -- oh bless his soul _Coran_ \-- had reassured her that they’ll get by. Stop by different galaxies for guidance, since there _must_ be _some_ Alteans out there who managed to escape the clutches of the Galra empire. Maybe visit what the paladins affectionately call _Earth_ sometime. Relax. Rest, since they’d have won the war then.

Yet, she couldn’t help thinking about what could have been.

She couldn’t help thinking about what would have happened if her father had stayed resilient and fought against Zarkon instead. What would have happened if Zarkon hadn’t betrayed them when he did. What would have happened if his father was still here, if her whole planet was still here, _if her mother had been with her when she grew up_ \--

 _Her mother_. She didn’t even _remember_ how her mother looked like. Her father had kept away all her pictures for reasons she couldn’t even remember, and the only memory she had of the lost parental figure in her life was merely when she had patched up Little Allura’s skinned knee.

She was drowning in her thoughts, suffocated by the words she didn’t dare speak, in fear that the facade she’d so carefully built up in the span of seconds would be broken down completely, unable to call for help, _drowning by herself, alone, like always_ \--

The nightmares didn’t make anything better.

At times, they started out cheery and bright. She’d be back home, in Altea, with everyone she love and care for _alive and breathing_ , and they’d be beaming down at her, laughing, carrying on with the usual conversation and she’d feel so so relieved at the fact that everything that happened didn’t happen, that it was all part of her imagination, that they were _alive and well and nothing unspeakable happened to them_.

And then everything turned purple, then black.

The darkness would swallow up her entire being, trapping her in place, and she could only watch as the Galra purged her people, _her family_ , out of existence. She could only watch as her father confronted the being responsible for everything terrible that happened to Altea, watch as he was immediately cut down, watch as Coran ran to his side, watch as he was thrown aside like a pest unworthy of attention.

And then the self decreed emperor of the universe would turn to her, yellow eyes glowing. He’d raise his bayard, the bayard of the Black Lion, and say in the most mocking voice imaginable, “ _This is a war you cannot win._ ”

She’d wake up in cold sweat, unable to stop the tears from forming in her eyes.

Other times -- _most of the time_ \-- it started out downright horribly. She’d be awake in an empty castle, devoid of light and life, and she’d trudge through the empty corridors by herself. She’d end up in the control room, with no one around, as she took the helm to see where they were headed.

“ _What are you doing, Allura?_ ”

She’d known what would happen. She’d seen what would happen. And yet she’d turn to face her father’s disapproving gaze. “Father, I--I was--”

Everything would turn dark, darker than it already was, and she’d stand alone in the darkness, save for her father. “ _How many times have I told you--_ ”

And he’d burst into flames with inhumane screams of agony, and suddenly her people are there, burning, _dying_ , and she’d stand on a tall pillar, too high up to reach and help anyone of them.

“ _Save us!_ ” they’d wail, reaching out to her with decaying hands. “ _Save us, Princess Allura!_ ”

And she’d try to. She’d try her hardest, try _desperately_ , but even when her hands reached them they'd pass through her like mist and they’d sink, _sink and won’t come back up_ \--

She’d end up in the control room again, castle heading straight into a star about to explode, and all she could see is _flashing purple in the veins of the castle and burning orange flames licking against the bow_ \--

“ _Why must you fight?_ ” the voice would say. “ _Submit, and the pain will cease._ ”

She’d try retaliating, except her throat had closed up and suddenly she wouldn’t be able to _breathe_ , legs crumbling under her. She’d fall to her knees, and she’d look up and see the paladins, in front of her.

“Please,” she’d beg.

And they’d turn their backs on her and leave. Leave, _leaving her alone in the darkness_.

“ _Submit._ ”

Those nights were often the worst.

Even if the dreams kept repeating and repeating themselves over and over again, she couldn’t help but hope at least. Hope there was a chance that the war hadn’t happened in the first place, hope that everything right now was just a long horrifying nightmare, and she’d wake up to see her father holding her hand in a feeble attempt at comfort, but was still an attempt of comfort nonetheless.

It would be enough for her.

But he wasn’t here anymore. Everyone she’d ever known wasn’t here, save for Coran, who didn’t deserve to suffer through all this, especially after all he’d been through.

And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t healthy for her to keep all these thoughts, _worry_ inside her. But she couldn’t tell anyone, even if she wanted to. They’d have enough burden on their own shoulders as it is. She didn’t want to burden them with hers.

She had keep up her charade. For the team. For the universe. _For the greater good_ \--

“Allura?”

Sometimes, though, having him here makes it at least a little better.

She looked up, tilting her head, giving him a hollow smile, one he’d see through easily but was a smile nonetheless. “Shiro.”

 

He saw her when he tip toed into the observation deck.

Sitting on the floor, she rested the back of her head against the wall, and looked up to unending holograms. Her hands were by her side, tense but relaxed, breathing shallow, and he walked over to her slowly, as quiet as possible.

She was silent, only moving the slightest bit.

“Allura,” he whispered softly, standing by her side, and leaned in closer to her in case she couldn’t hear him. “What are you doing here? You should be resting.”

She turned to him slightly. “Shiro,” she murmured, a small smile on her face. “Aren’t the stars beautiful?”

He turned to where she was looking, eyes filled with silent wonder at the sight. Galaxy after galaxy faded in and out of view, rotating slowly, as new ones formed and old ones exploded in a nebula, and it zoomed in onto planets too far away, and yet so close and unique and _beautiful_ even though he couldn't touch it. And standing there just reminded him that the universe was _infinite_ , always expanding, _growing_ , and it took his breath away.

A tiny spark of hope ignited in him. He nodded slightly to her, not knowing what to say.

She patted at the empty spot beside her, gesturing at him to sit beside her.

He sat down cross legged beside her, giving her the least awkward smile he could manage. “Can’t sleep?”

She chuckled lightly, leaning against her legs, and hugged herself. “I’ve just been… thinking. A lot more recently.”

He fixed his eyes on her, conveying a silent message.

She pursed her lips. “I--I don’t know, really. As much as I want to--" _I'm not sure if I should._

“It’s okay if you’re not comfortable talking about it,” he cut in gently, resting his hand on her shoulder. “This isn't about me. It's about you.”

She looked up to him with a grateful smile, _thank you_ , then turned away, back to the holograms.

He wanted to lean in closer to her and tell her something, which is supposed to be impossible because their sides were already pressed together, and he wasn't even sure _what_ he wanted to say. He settled for sliding the hand on her shoulder down to her hand in an feeble attempt at comfort, though at least it was still an attempt of comfort either way.

As silly as it sounded, he hoped it _did_ give her comfort.

The castle engine made a gentle hum, barely able to be heard, but _still there_. It could even pass for an old lullaby, if he was delirious enough, if he hadn’t felt so awake. There might have been footsteps of the others going around the castle, restless like the two of them were, though he wasn’t sure. She pushed her back to the wall and leaned her temple against his shoulder, sighing.

He ran his fingers through the strands of her white hair, feeling the light pressure of her body against his, and hummed an old nursery rhyme.

“What song is that?” she murmured.

“I don’t remember,” he said, trying to untangle the knots in her hair. “I think my mother used to sing it to me when I was young.”

She tensed. “Oh.” A pause. “How was she like?”

“I uh,” he started. “I don’t remember.”

“Oh.”

They fell into a silence, tension in the air. The holograms glowed blue in the darkness of space.

“Well,” she cleared her throat, “I would offer to sing to you a traditional Altean lullaby in return, but I was known as the Duflax of Altea.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s a duflax?”

“I think Lance called it a,” she frowned, “a dog? A dug?”

“A duck?” he prompted.

“Yes! That,”she said, gleeful. “My people told me I had the voice of a duck when I sang.”

He laughed then, which made her laugh -- a clear, warm sound that filled him with _something_. He turned to her, amused. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

She snorted, not very princess-y. “Oh, do believe me, you do _not_ want to hear me sing. I believe what my people said wholeheartedly.”

They fell into another silence, but it felt _different_ , strangely. It felt _comfortable_. It felt like _home_. They breathed slowly, afraid of breaking this delicate moment. It was… peaceful. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was scared of it, scared that this moment would be taken away from him, _scared that he’d forget_ \--

But, he thought. He thought maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as he thought it would be.

They stayed there, in the dimly lit room, among the glowing stars around them, in a castle in the vast emptiness of space. They stayed there, bodies pressed together, focusing on each others’ breathing -- _one, two, three_ \-- kaleidoscope eyes on brown eyes, until their eyelids became heavy and they fell asleep, in a rest that they hadn’t gotten in so long, in a sleep they so desperately needed.

They stayed there, comforted in each others’ presence, hands intertwined, sleeping, until the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> this was actually supposed to have a really fluffy ending with shiro calling allura adorable but it felt a bit too fast
> 
> honestly tho theyd totally be the type to like... like each other and know the other one likes them back but they kinda just dont address it cuz they feel like it doesnt?
> 
> anyway i hope you like it  
>  
> 
> [I draw on tumblr :D](https://coralreefskim.tumblr.com/)


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